


Psychopomp

by TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Anakin is a psychopomp, Cultural Differences, F/M, Obi-Wan tries to help Anakin but mostly fails, Tatooine Slave Culture, a person who guides the spirits of the dead to the afterlife, but I haven't yet decided how this will end, in part because of cultural worldview differences, may incorporate the Original Trilogy later, not as AU as it sounds - Anakin still becomes a Jedi and everything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 08:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8972596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel/pseuds/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel
Summary: There were things about Anakin which nobody knew.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure how long this will be or if I'll finish it, but... I couldn't get the idea out of my head...
> 
> ETA: IT may be a few days before I can post the next chapter, but I will be working on it when I can. :)

** Psychopomp **

Long before Anakin ever guided a soul to the afterlife himself, he watched his Mom do it.

He was only about three years old at the time, but life in the desert was harsh, and life as a slave even more so, and while his Mom shielded him as best she could from some things, there were other things which circumstance forced Anakin to learn early on for the sake of his own survival. The cycle of life and death was one of these things. At three years old, Anakin wasn’t capable of understanding very much about the intricate relationship between living and dying; but he needed to have _some_ understanding, however little it might be. So when Mother Gandu’s time grew near, and Anakin’s Mom went as she always did to guard the dying woman from unwelcome spiritual attention and show her the way to the next world, she took Anakin with her.

Anakin liked Mother Gandu. Everyone did. She was a respected figure amongst the slaves, older than any of them, and while she could be stern, she was also as kind to others as the life of a slave allowed. She had taught many a slave to live below the radar of their master’s attention, to know the things they needed to know to survive, even when that meant being cruel to be kind. But she was always gentle and patient with the little ones, and she was no different with Anakin.

When they arrived at Mother Gandu’s dwelling, there were already many others there, but a hush fell as Anakin’s Mom walked in, and people drew aside as she approached, letting her pass. 

The slaves had a secret language all their own which they never used in the presence of their masters, and that language had a word for what Anakin’s Mom was – _agiru_ – one who guided the souls of the dying to the world beyond that of the living. No one in Mos Espa had ever met an agiru besides Shmi, but it didn’t matter: they all knew the stories, and Anakin’s Mom had never tried to hide from the other slaves what she was. The masters didn’t know, of course: but then, what _did_ the masters know, that the slaves didn’t wish them to?

To be agiru was to be respected, at least amongst the slaves, but it also meant that Anakin’s Mom was kept at a wary, uneasy distance by most of the others. No one wanted an agiru around, right up until they did. 

Mother Gandu, though, she’d always liked Anakin’s Mom, and never made any secret of it. She smiled at Shmi as Shmi walked into her dwelling, even though her face was drawn with pain.

“I knew you’d be… coming around,” said Mother Gandu, in between wheezing gasps. “It’s not long now. I can feel… the life… slipping away from me.”

Anakin’s Mom only smiled sadly, and said nothing.

Anakin, however, looked at Mother Gandu with curious eyes. Like his Mom, he could feel the life slipping away from Mother Gandu, as she approached the boundary between the worlds of the living and the dead, but he was too young to understand what it meant.

“And here’s… young Anakin… come to tell me… goodbye,” said Mother Gandu, focusing her gaze on Anakin with effort.

“Are you going away, Mother Gandu?” Anakin asked. “Where are you going?”

It was his Mom who answered.

“Mother Gandu is very sick, Anakin,” she said, smoothing his hair. Anakin looked up at her. “Soon she will pass from this world, into the next one. I’m here to keep away the hungry things which lurk in the space between worlds, and to show her the way.”

“Oh.” Anakin looked back at Mother Gandu, frowning. “Do you have to go? I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll… miss… you, too, young… one,” said Mother Gandu. “But… yes.”

“It’s almost time,” said Anakin’s Mom. “Anakin, say goodbye to Mother Gandu, and then I need you to watch very carefully, and to stay very quiet until I say you can speak again. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Well, then.” Shmi gave him a little push, towards where Mother Gandu lay on her bed.

Anakin took a step forward, and then another and another. Mother Gandu watched him come closer.

“I’m sorry you’re going away,” said Anakin. “But I hope it’s nice there, and that there aren’t any masters.”

“There won’t be,” Anakin’s Mom said quietly. “Alright, Anakin… it’s time to be very quiet, and to watch very carefully.”

The entire room was quiet as Anakin’s Mom approached Mother Gandu, and knelt by her bedside, taking Mother Gandu’s hand in hers. Several minutes passed.

And then…

In the same moment as Mother Gandu breathed her last, Anakin saw… well, he wasn’t quite sure what he saw. But it seemed to him that just for a moment, his Mom stepped out of her body, a shining figure made of light. And because she was still holding Mother Gandu’s hand, when she stepped out of her body Mother Gandu was brought along too, slipping out of her own body to stand next to Anakin’s Mom, a pale and insubstantial version of herself. As Anakin watched, a great shudder went through Mother Gandu, and she shook herself all over: and when Anakin blinked, suddenly it wasn’t Mother Gandu as he had known her standing there, but a much younger, healthier Mother Gandu. 

While Mother Gandu looked down at herself in astonished delight, Anakin’s Mom whispered something in her ear. Anakin saw Mother Gandu listen, and nod, and pull her hand from Shmi’s. As she turned away from Shmi, she swiftly faded from sight until Anakin couldn’t see her any longer.

For a moment, Anakin’s Mom continued to stand there, still the shining figure of light, her hands resting on the glowing outline of a sword that hung at her hip; the next second, she was back in her body, closing the eyes of the empty shell Mother Gandu had left behind.

A murmur of sorrow and grief went through the assembled slaves. Several began to cry silently, tears pouring down their faces even though they never made a sound. Too much noise would attract the attention of the masters.

Anakin stared down at Mother Gandu’s body, trying to understand what he had just witnessed.

“Mom?” he asked. “Mother Gandu’s gone, isn’t she?” At his Mom’s nod, he asked, “When is she coming back?”

“Oh, Ani,” his Mom said, and pulled him into the circle of her arms. “There is no coming back for Mother Gandu. But one day, all of us will go away, just as she has, and we will join her in the next world.”

Shmi’s voice was quiet, but it was filled with absolute certainty. Anakin thought about what she’d said.

“I’m still going to miss her, though,” he told his Mom, after a moment, feeling sad.

“So will I,” said his Mom, and she sounded even sadder than he felt.

And that was Anakin’s first glimpse of what it meant to be agiru, although he was too young, then, to understand how it would shape his life.

* * *

By the time he was nine years old, Anakin was even more accomplished at being agiru than his Mom was.

That was what everyone said, anyway, even her, and so although Anakin found it hard to imagine being better than his Mom at anything, he supposed it must be true. He found it hard, sometimes, knowing what to say to comfort the dying: but in the one moment which was perfectly suspended between life and death, when he slipped out of his body to help the dead along their path to the next world, Anakin always knew exactly what guidance to give them so that they could find their way home.

Sometimes – not often, but sometimes – there were hungry things in the space between the worlds, lying in wait in order to try and consume the souls of the dead before they could move on. But when he was outside his body Anakin always had his sword, reassuringly heavy and solid in his hands even though it glowed like a small star, and he knew instinctively how to wield it to keep the hungry things away long enough for the souls of the dead to escape their ravenous maws.

Being agiru felt right, and… not _easy_ , because it was _never_ easy, but it was something which Anakin instinctively understood, and was good at. Everything in the space between the worlds made sense to him. Being agiru wasn’t difficult… but living, on the other hand, was.

Anakin’s Mom had told him that the masters must never know that he was agiru, or what it meant. If they did, she said, they would try and subvert the balance between life and death: to make the masters live long lives, and the slaves shorter ones; for the masters to never die while all her opposed them perished. 

Anakin knew that this was true. But it didn’t make it any easier to bear when he was made to work hard for nothing but Watto’s security and wellbeing, when he was punished for some flaw, or when the masters and freeborn sneered at him in the streets for being a slave. Being agiru did Anakin no good then, nor any of the other slaves. He was left feeling angry and powerless in the face of the masters’ control and contempt. But it was a life he was used to, and he knew how to live it. At least, until the Jedi came, and changed everything.

Anakin knew a little of what his Mom had told Qui Gon. She’d told the Jedi about finding herself pregnant, about the fact that Anakin had never had a father; but his status and her own as agiru never crossed her lips, and Anakin understood that while the Jedi Order might be good, that didn’t mean that they were _trusted_. Not with that kind of knowledge.

“Why’d you tell him I don’t have a father?” Anakin asked his Mom later.

“Because he’s interested in you,” Shmi said, her expression grave and troubled. “I think… I think that he believes you might be able to become a Jedi.”

“Wow!” Anakin couldn’t contain his excitement, but then he saw the look on his Mom’s face, and faltered. “Mom, what’s wrong?”

“He might not take you with him, but if he does…” Anakin’s Mom looked sad. “We guide the dead to their final destination, Ani, but if you become a Jedi, you might be required to cause their deaths.”

“Oh.” 

Anakin’s voice was small as he asked, “But… the Jedi would only kill bad people, wouldn’t they, Mom?”

His Mom’s answer was not entirely reassuring.

“I hope so, Ani.”

Anakin’s Mom proved to be right. Before Qui Gon was due to leave Tatooine, he told Anakin that he had bought Anakin’s freedom from Watto, and if he chose, Anakin could go with him, to become a Jedi knight.

The catch was, Anakin had to leave his Mom behind. As a slave.

Anakin didn’t want to do it. But his Mom told him that her place was here, on Tatooine, and he needed to let her go. So Anakin went: alone, trying to be brave and struggling not to cry, while the learner Jedi that Qui Gon had been training sent Anakin dubious looks as though he doubted that Anakin had the fortitude or ability to become a Jedi.

Anakin’s only comfort was his last conversation with his Mom.

“Will I ever see you again?”

“What does your heart tell you?” his Mom had asked, her voice gentle, even though Anakin could tell that her heart was breaking just as much as his was.

“I hope so… yes, I guess.”

“Anakin,” said his Mom, and stopped. Anakin looked at her. “Anakin, no matter where you are, my love will be with you. And if we do not meet again in this world… then we shall see each other again in the next.” She hugged him tightly, and kissed him, and then said, “Now be brave, and don’t look back… don’t look back…”

So here Anakin was, in the Jedi Temple, trying to learn how to be a Jedi. Qui Gon had said it wouldn’t be easy; and Anakin was discovering that boy, had Qui Gon been _right_.

Somehow, even though many of them were human, the Jedi were far more alien than any actual aliens Anakin had ever encountered. They thought differently, and they felt differently. 

Anakin was used to people who loved and lived with all their hearts, but the Jedi… didn’t. Oh, they weren’t bad people, not really; but they didn’t understand how important it was to care about other people. Worse, they called it ‘attachment,’ and said that it led to the Dark Side of the Force. 

Anakin had cared for many people during his life – for some of them only as they were dying, but that made them no less important. He _knew_ , deep in his bones, that it was his compassion and his determination to help and protect people which made him so good at being agiru.    
Emotion, especially that which he felt for others, gave him his strength and his purpose. 

But according to the Jedi, emotion was to be purged.  _ There is no emotion, there is peace. _ _There is no ignorance, there is knowledge._ _There is no passion, there is serenity._ _There is no chaos, there is harmony._ _There is no death, there is the Force._ That was the creed of the Jedi Order, and Anakin was expected to follow it.

The Jedi lived in a world where feelings were bad, even positive feelings, a world in which caring for other people was disapproved of, in which people were expected to be serene and calm all the time.

Anakin didn’t know how any of them could stand it.

He tried, though, all the same. Part of it was for his Mom’s sake, because he’d promised that he would do his best to become a Jedi. Part of it, too, was for Obi-Wan’s sake: Anakin’s new Jedi master (which was different, somehow, from being a slave master) was as lost and hurting as Anakin was, Anakin could tell, and no one in the Temple seemed to want to help him. 

He’d asked another padawan why, once. She’d looked at him as though she couldn’t believe he’d even asked the question, and responded, “Because he needs to work through his emotion on his own, of course. He needs to learn to move past what he’s feeling, and embrace the serenity of the Force.”

But Obi-Wan didn’t seem to be doing very well at embracing the serenity of the Force. He was grieving, and terribly so, so much that even though Anakin was hardly doing any better himself, his heart went out to Obi-Wan. The only thing that seemed to bring Obi-Wan any solace was the thought that at least he was doing what Qui Gon would have wanted him to do, by training Anakin as a Jedi. So Anakin tried to be a good Jedi padawan, for Obi-Wan’s sake as much as because Anakin had promised his Mom. 

But Anakin felt lost, and alone, and without purpose. This new existence made him feel small and powerless, and the other Jedi, without meaning to, made him feel like he was something _wrong_ , as though there was only one way to be a person and Anakin wasn’t doing it right. Even when Anakin did his best, it only seemed to make things worse. So Anakin kept his mouth shut to stop himself from accidentally saying things that would earn him stares or reprimands from the other Jedi, and did his best to be quiet and small and generally not worth noticing.

He was trying to meditate late one afternoon, without much success at all, when he felt it. Someone in the Temple, not too far away, was on the brink of death – and Anakin knew, instinctively, that there was no one who was agiru anywhere nearby. Which meant that the duty fell to Anakin.

Anakin’s eyes shot open, and he ignored Obi-Wan’s “Anakin, what are you doing?” as he got to his feet.

“Sorry, master!” he called over his shoulder, as Obi-Wan demanded that he sit back down and resume meditation. “I’ll be back soon!”

Anakin pelted through the Temple corridors, ignoring the stares he got from the Jedi he passed on the way. 

He was still running when he felt the dying person’s connection with their body fade to nothing. Anakin focused as hard as he could, concentrating on reaching them, wherever they were. He slipped out of his body and into the space between worlds, and looked around, searching for his newest charge.

There, in the distance, was a ghostly figure in Jedi robes, looking at their surroundings in some confusion – but Anakin could already see the shadows gathering at the edge of the horizon, and could tell that within minutes they would converge on the defenceless Jedi’s soul.

Anakin ran, his feet flying over the grim terrain as he prayed to all the gods that he reached the lost Jedi before the hungry things did. As Anakin watched, the soul turned, sensing the presence of the hungry things, and stared in consternation at their approach, unsure of how to react.

Anakin arrived just in time to draw his sword and strike out at the dark tendrils reaching out for the Jedi’s soul. The hungry things hissed and gave a great unearthly screech, and hurriedly withdrew.

The Jedi gaped at Anakin, who was luminous in the place between worlds, and said: “What just happened?”

“You almost got eaten by the hungry things,” Anakin replied.

“The hungry things?”

“They consume souls,” Anakin explained matter-of-factly, sheathing his sword. “If they have a name, I don’t know what it is. You’re here because you died, and I’m here to tell you how to reach wherever you’re supposed to be going.”

“But shouldn’t I be one with the Force?” the Jedi asked. He sounded quite disturbed.

“That’s what the Jedi teach, sure, but things go a little differently here. I don’t think any of the Jedi ever asked anyone who was agiru about it when they came up with their theories on what happens when Jedi die.”

The Jedi stared at Anakin, looking lost. It was clear that he had a number of questions, but the one he chose to ask was, “What does agiru mean?”

Normally Anakin wouldn’t have even mentioned the word in the hearing of one of the Jedi, but this Jedi was one of the dead, now. He had the right to know.

“The agiru protect and guide the souls of the dead on their way to the next world,” Anakin explained.

The Jedi’s brow wrinkled.

“You mean a psychopomp?”

“Is that the same as what I just explained?”

“Essentially, yes.” The Jedi shook his head. “I always thought psychopomps were just stories, relics of a more primitive age.”

“We tell stories for a reason,” said Anakin, annoyed. “Just because something is a story doesn’t mean it’s not true. There’s truth in most stories, if you know where to look.”

“Evidently,” the Jedi muttered. He looked at Anakin. “So where do I go from here?”

Anakin gave him directions, and the Jedi he began to walk away. As Anakin watched, the Jedi faded out of view within seconds.

The next instant, Anakin was back in his body, and no time had passed at all.

“Anakin!” 

It was Obi-Wan’s voice, sounding concerned and irritated in equal measures. Anakin turned to face his Jedi master, and waited for Obi-Wan to catch up.

“Anakin, you can’t simply run off like that,” Anakin’s Jedi master scolded.

“Someone in the Temple just died,” Anakin blurted out. When Obi-Wan gave him a startled look, Anakin added, “But it’s okay. He’s where he’s supposed to be.”

Obi-Wan stared at him, clearly at a loss.

“Did you… sense his passing in the Force?” Obi-Wan’s voice was oddly tentative.

Anakin only shrugged, and let Obi-Wan draw his own conclusions.

Obi-Wan stared at him for a moment longer, then asked, “Was it anyone you know?”

Anakin shook his head.

“I don’t think so.” Then, hesitating – because this was perilously close to declaring himself agiru, but hopefully Obi-Wan would assume that it was some kind of manifestation of the Force – Anakin added, “I could always tell when someone was dying, back home.” He bit his lip. “Me and Mom used to go and sit with them, so that they didn’t have to die alone. It’s not easy for most people, like it is for Jedi. Most people are scared, because they don’t know what’s going to happen to them afterwards.”

Obi-Wan sighed. To Anakin’s surprise, he laid a hand on Anakin’s shoulder.

“I assure you, dying isn’t much easier for Jedi than it is for everyone else, no matter how certain we may be of the outcome,” he said, and his voice was only a little dry. Anakin looked up at him. “But no one in the Temple dies alone, unless they wish to. You don’t need to go to them, Anakin.”

“But it’s my duty,” Anakin insisted. “To help the dying.”

Obi-Wan looked at him with an odd expression.

“Whatever your duties may have been on Tatooine, your duties here are quite different. Attending to the dying is not one of them. I would appreciate it if in future you would remain where you are, should you sense someone dying.” His tone of voice made it clear that despite his phrasing, this was an order.

Anakin stared at Obi-Wan, feeling desperate.

“But–”

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan’s voice was uncharacteristically gentle. “Your compassion does you credit. But there is no need for you to go to those who are dying within the Temple. They are well-cared for.”

Anakin knew, then, that there was no convincing Obi-Wan. If Anakin wanted to do his duty as agiru, then he would have to either do it in secret – almost impossible, with so many Jedi around – or he would need to learn to leave his body before the dying were entirely dead, and travel to them through the space between worlds.

“I understand,” said Anakin.

“Good,” said Obi-Wan. “Don’t look so downcast. I am sure that there are other ways for you to make yourself useful, if that’s what you want.”

Anakin said nothing, and let Obi-Wan think what he liked.

“Now,” said Obi-Wan, “Let’s return to my quarters, and you can resume your meditation. It’s an important skill for a Jedi, you know.”

Anakin nodded, looking at the floor, and followed Obi-Wan back through the Temple’s corridors.

 


End file.
